


too wise to woo peaceably

by imperiousheiress



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Or soon to be, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 02, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, a forest of pine trees, allies to friends to lovers, did I mention slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperiousheiress/pseuds/imperiousheiress
Summary: A year after stopping Dracula, their work is not yet done. Trevor and Sypha return to the castle to enlist Alucard's help in ridding Wallachia of the hellspawn once and for all.(The road trip fic that no one asked for.)
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In preparation for shifting into Castlevania mode with S3 on the horizon, I've decided to start posting this fic, which is my baby (because maybe if I get feedback as I go, I'll be more inclined to finish it lol). Thanks for joining me! 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://imperiousheiress.tumblr.com)

The sky overhead is an endless bright azure field, the sun shining clear and bold, uninhibited by any hint of clouds. Light dapples against the grass, uninterrupted except for the steadily moving shadow cast by their carriage as it traces along the barely-present hint of a path winding through the trees. It’s a quiet scene. Not silent, not anywhere near it – there’s the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves and the crescendo-decrescendo of the breeze through wind-rustled leaves – but it is peaceful. Almost unnervingly so.

After all, no more than a year ago, they’d made this same trip with one more to their number and surrounded by a very different set of circumstances. For one, there had been nothing in view then but a black-cloud sky and a handful of stars. There had been no leaves, no grass – just the clawing hands of brittle branches and the crunch of silt underfoot. No sense of life. Certainly there had been no sign of the twisting black spires of the magnificent castle now peeking like the needle-like claws of some great beast over the horizon. 

That’s where Trevor is still staring, that’s what is holding his attention, when he feels a jab not unlike needles – although these ones much, _much_ smaller – aimed straight for the tender meat of his ribs.

 _“_ Um. _Ow?”_ he hisses in lilting protest, wincing away, teetering uncomfortably close to the edge of the wagon’s seat. His eyes turn sharply from the treeline towards the sound of the entirely unsympathetic huff at his side.

“What were you thinking about?” Sypha asks, not bothering to heed the edge of his glare. “You looked like you were about two seconds from just floating off through the sky. Never to be seen again.”

“Yeah, well, that’d be your loss.” Trevor grumbles, rubbing at his side where the bruising itch of her brutal assault still lingers against his skin. For all of her soft angles, her elbows are surprisingly sharp.

Still, she snorts at his lame attempt at humor, and the first hint of a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. He thinks, for a moment, that he’s going to get away without having to offer a real answer. He is, of course, entirely wrong.

“Well?” she prods – with words, this time, thankfully. Not elbows.

Trevor’s gaze drifts once again, drawn in a way that’s almost mechanical to the looming shadow of Dracula’s castle, stark against the expanse of the sky. A shape cut out with surgical precision from the blue heavens. No, _not_ Dracula’s castle. Not anymore.

“Just-” He stops. Sighs. Drags a weary hand down his face, across the restless dark crescents that add weight to the skin just under his eyes. “I’m just thinking about the last time we were here.”

The last time. The tainted red light of the full blood moon overhead, creeping through windows, making flickering shapes of shadows, seeping through cracks. The length of a dim-lit corridor littered with bodies on all sides, the luxuriously sprawling entryway carpet soaked with blood. And then, tables and shelves and dust-laden books. Splintered wood and shattered glass like a carpet of splintered crystal across the stonework. The squeaking wheels of a covered wagon, rolling across a cobble bridge under a sky much like the current one, but in the opposite direction.

The overpowering mantra, above it all, echoing like a thunderstorm through his skull. _Don’t turn around. Don’t look back. Don’t, don’t._

He doesn’t realize how long Sypha has been silent. Not until she speaks.

“I see,” she says, with a gentle tone behind it not unlike the birdsong floating weightless through the trees around them.

“That is… something that’s not easy to forget. I certainly don’t think _I_ ever will. But, well– In the end, it was a _good_ day, wasn’t it?”

_“What?”_

“I mean, we beat _Dracula._ We stopped his forces from wiping out all life in Wallachia!” She waves her hands in the air, dropping the reins. Trevor lurches, but before he can get very far, she catches them again in one hand. “That’s as good a reason for celebration as any.”

Trevor sits back once more, shaking his head but unable to hide a smile.

“I suppose that’s _one_ way of looking at it.”

Sypha stops the wagon just on the other side of the bridge from the castle. For a long moment, neither of them says a thing.

This close, it doesn't look so unnatural as it had from beyond the trees. The rectangular pattern of sand-colored stone is visible – neat and close packed. It almost melts into the backdrop, painted against the noonday sky. The only thing to indicate that it's a fully fleshed out structure rather than the result of paint dripped on a canvas is the clouds. They are barely there, nothing more than snowy wisps that reach for the tips of the tallest spires, splitting and weaving around them. 

Trevor inhales. Holds it. Counts. Until the tight-knit knot around his esophagus eases just enough to exhale in a single, steady stream instead of the stuttering, shallow half-breaths he’d been forcing through his throat just a second earlier.

“Are you ready?” Sypha asks at his side. 

It’s not until he turns towards the sound of her voice that he realizes she’s been staring at him since they stopped. He huffs, rubbing at the back of his neck, head falling forward.

“No.” A snort. “No, not really. But when have I ever been ready for anything?”

Sypha sighs, but the smile is audible in her voice.

“I _wish_ I could say that you were wrong. Unfortunately, I know you _far_ too well.”

Trevor can’t think of any argument to counteract that – it’s true, after all. At this point, she knows him better than anyone else on the planet does. Better than anyone _ever_ has. So he grumbles an incomprehensible curse and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. And when he catches her eye, the glint that he finds there breaks him. His face splits with a grin and he can’t hold back his laughter. A moment later, Sypha’s voice joins his with her ringing bell-tone giggles that shake her shoulders.

A scattering of fawn-winged birds with dark blush bellies flutter overhead, spooked from their perches by their interruption. Trevor’s eyes follow the shapes of them, a speckled burst of movement overhead, until they are over the trees and out of sight. It only makes them laugh longer. 

He doesn’t miss the way that Sypha’s knuckles tighten around the reins in the quiet that follows. (Peaceful. It’s a quiet that doesn’t set his teeth on edge – something he’s not used to. But here they’re safe – moreso than anywhere else in the world.) 

“What about you? Are _you_ ready?”

“Yes.”

The response is immediate, no trace of hesitation. Trevor snorts, ready to offer a dispute just as quickly, but whatever jab he was going to make dies on his tongue. Her face is a steady mask of determination, no hint of untruth to be found. He blinks at her – the halo that glows resplendent around the wild wisps of hair the color of delicate pre-autumn leaves, chin tilted high and eyes fixed dead ahead. As unmoving as the most carefully carved statue except for the faint breeze that strokes the periwinkle blue folds of her Speaker’s garb.

She snaps the reins and they start forward once more.

It looks better than it had – all of it does. Having the massive weight of a moving castle dropped atop it was probably the best thing that could have happened to the old Belmont estate. There is no trace of the crumbling stonework that had once stood sentinel over this plot of land. Obliterated, probably, when Sypha had first done her little magic trick. Turned to dust when it had been supplanted by the weight of the castle that now claims the space it had once owned. If there had been anything left, it’s been cleared out now. No trace that it was ever there. 

It’s a good thing. After all, the walls he had walked between a year ago when they’d first arrived here had been nothing more than a husk. As far as he’s concerned, the only thing really lost here was a spectre – a ghost exorcised, freed from haunting a world in which it had once been trapped.

Besides that, the bridge has been repaired. The gaps in guard rails on either side have been filled. No more risk of falling off, of meeting nothing at the bottom except for broken bones and an immediate future filled with bed rest and boredom. (He may or may not be speaking from experience.) The lawn has filled in with full, smooth blades of grass in a lush emerald tone carpet, broken only by the occasional dot of royal indigo blue petals. As they get closer to the front door, it becomes obvious that the morning glories – the very same that have always been there, from his earliest memories of childhood – have long since begun their creep up the exterior of the castle walls. In fact, they’ve already made admirable progress in scaling the walls, the highest flowers blooming well above Trevor’s head. The vines melt into the stone as if they’ve always been there. Laying claim to the once-foreign structure that had cropped up in their midst. Pulling it into the landscape around them. 

The wagon slows to an easy stop just to the side of the massive doors. Sypha is leaping to the ground before the horses’ hooves have stilled. Trevor grabs hastily for the reins in her absence, reaching a calming hand towards the horses on the other end. He makes sure they have stopped completely before he begins lowering himself to join her much more slowly. With one last pat against the chestnut muzzle of the nearest horse, he leaves the wagon behind entirely. By the time he gets to Sypha’s side, she has already been pounding at the door with the pommel of her knife long and hard enough that, were she knocking at any other door, it would certainly have dented. Or maybe even given way entirely.

 _“Ooh,”_ she huffs, cheeks puffing not unlike a particularly greedy ground squirrel. “Alucard, I _know_ you’re in there. Open up already, damn you.”

Trevor snorts. Oh, they really _have_ spent a long time together on the road over the last year. 

“Come on, he has to know we’re here.” He shrugs, shoulders still stiff from the exertion he’d put himself through two nights back, and grimaces. _“Maybe_ he just doesn’t want to see us.”

Just as the words finish leaving his mouth, the low rumbling sound of something churning to a start with a great effort reaches their ears from somewhere just inside the walls of the castle. A moment later, with a straining metallic creak, the doors just in front of them begin to open in unison, swinging inward with a slow grace. 

“You were saying?”

Sypha grins, one eyebrow cocked, and it radiates smugness. But underneath there is joy, too. A spark that flits to Trevor as well, like a contagion, shining on something in the dark depths of his stomach that hasn’t seen a hint of light in far too long. As the doors continue to spread wide with a liquid smooth motion on surprisingly silent hinges the size of a child, Trevor can feel his heartbeat against the bottom of his ribcage. 

Sypha doesn’t wait. Before the doors have stopped, before they’ve settled into place with a final echoing _thoom_ through the entryway, she is rushing through the gap. 

“Sy _pha,”_ Trevor hisses as he follows, pulled behind her by an instinctual draw to keep eyes on her back. He’s squinting already as he enters, prepared for the inevitable blindness that will hit when he’s well inside the gloom of the castle. 

It doesn’t come.

It’s not that much darker inside than it was out. Nothing like it had been the first time he’d stepped through these very same doors. The long stretch of corridor laid out in front of them is well-lit on either side – _warm_ even – emitting a welcoming glow. It’s homely. His heart squeezes in his chest. It reminds him of the Belmont estate. Before, well–

There is _one_ thing, however, that is present here that never would have been in the old childhood home. And he’s standing just below the bottom of the stairs, at the very end of the long rug stretched across the full length of the entryway, looking just as Trevor remembers last seeing him.

A silky curtain of white gold hair cascades over his shoulders. Light glints off the stiletto blade of his rapier where it floats just above his head to his right, ready poised to strike. His attire is casual – just a loose eggshell white shirt with a vee collar that cuts down past his collarbone and trousers the color of dark oak that cling to his hips before disappearing into a pair of tall boots.

Alucard blinks and his sword falls, stopping well before it hits the ground to instead slot itself into its sheath. The softness of his voice rings clear in the surrounding silence.

“It really _is_ you.”

Trevor stops, brought to a standstill by some unknown force, but Sypha keeps going. She is practically sprinting, rushing to meet Alucard, who still hasn’t moved since they’d entered.

“Alucard!” she says with the same timbre as her laugh. 

It’s like the breaking of a spell. Trevor’s feet gain their own autonomy, carrying him forward once again at the same time as Alucard takes two steps towards the door, towards them. His hand is outstretched, but Sypha hardly seems to notice. She ignores the gesture entirely in favor of flinging the full weight of her small stature against his front. He takes it with ease – of course he does, he’s practically immovable when he wants to be – and adjusts easily, bringing his second arm up to return her eager embrace.

Sypha releases him quickly, taking a step back just as Trevor stops a scant handful of feet away from them. Alucard’s eyes cease their wondrous blinking at Sypha’s face to instead turn on him the moment that the clomping of his boots halts. 

“Belmont,” he says and straightens half an inch taller, if that’s even possible. 

“Alucard.”

Before he can think better of it, Trevor extends a hand. He’s not sure what surprises him more – the fact that he offered the flippant gesture in the first place or the fact that Alucard actually accepts it. His grip is firm and surprisingly warm in a way that lingers against Trevor’s skin even after it’s gone.

“I must admit, this is quite the surprise. I had thought that was the two of you knocking at my door, but I didn’t imagine–” He stops, tugs at his shirtsleeves. Not that he needed bother; he always looks pristine, and now is no exception. 

Trevor snorts.

“Really? Who else besides Sypha could have been making all that racket outside?”

“Excuse me. _Racket?”_

_“Yes_ , racket. You heard me. And I’m surprised all of Wallachia didn’t hear _you.”_

Sypha crosses her arms with a prim _hmph_ and something akin to a smile finds its way to Alucard’s face. He glances between the two of them with an indiscernible expression painting his features. 

“I didn’t know to expect you,” he says, and he’s frowning once again. “I’m not unhappy to see you, of course, but you should have sent word ahead. I could have prepared for your arrival. I’m afraid the castle is currently woefully unsuited to host guests.”

Trevor’s eyes find Sypha’s. It isn’t hard because she was already turning to do the same, and he knows their minds are both in a similar place. He also knows that, if the glint in Alucard’s golden eyes is any indication, he didn’t miss their shared look.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly write. Don’t think anyone would deliver it. But-” Trevor starts. He doesn’t get a chance to finish because Alucard cuts him off, turning pointedly to Sypha.

“There are other means. For a Speaker magician.”

 _“Yes,”_ Trevor says loudly, not a little bit annoyed at being interrupted. “But-”

“We had to talk to you in person.” It’s Sypha who interrupts him this time, and he groans, arms flying out at his sides. Neither of them pays him any mind. “This is too important. And… And we didn’t want you to worry.”

Both of Alucard’s eyebrows find their way to a place high on his forehead. 

“Well.” He huffs. “Let me put on tea.”

“No,” Trevor says at the same time Sypha pipes up with, “That would be _lovely.”_

Five minutes later, Trevor is seated at one end of a surprisingly modern – and surprisingly _modest_ – sofa with Sypha at the opposite end. He’s still looking around the room, pondering the decor. This is perhaps the only room they’ve visited so far that actually feels lived in. The curtains are open, filtering in the midday sun, there is an open book pressed face-down atop the desk that’s littered with loose papers, the spine straining in a way that would likely make Sypha riot if she were to notice it – when Alucard enters. 

He’s balancing three mugs, and he offers the two held in the same hand first to Sypha, who accepts hers with a quiet word of thanks, and then to Trevor. He takes the remaining mug after only a moment’s hesitation, holding it from the top and placing it square in his lap. As soon as they’ve taken them, he retreats with his own mug to an armchair that he pulls to face the sofa from where it had previously been turned to one of the nearly floor-to-ceiling study windows.

He has barely sat down when Sypha leans forward, cradling her mug between her hands.

“Alucard, it really is _so_ good to see you.”

“You as well.” Alucard smiles – a soft turn of the lips with no edges to it, nothing hiding in its corners. “It has been a long time. Perhaps too long.”

Trevor sniffs at the contents of his mug, recoiling slightly at the nearly overpowering herby scent wafting from it.

“That’s not wine you’re drinking is it?” he says, eyes finding the curving ivory handle of the mug wrapped around long, graceful fingers.

Alucard follows his gaze before looking back up, one pristine eyebrow raising in his direction.

“No,” he says. “It’s not.”

Trevor smirks, but before another word can fall from his mouth, Alucard blows steam over the edge of his mug. He’s just close enough that the dark smell of herbs reaches Trevor’s nostrils, carried on a huff of breath, and his nose wrinkles. 

“Ah,” he says. 

And then, before he says anything else, he raises his mug to his mouth. Better that than his foot. Again.

He’s already grimacing when he takes a sip, but it eases instantly. Instead of the bitter, earthy taste that he’d been anticipating – glorified leaves, that’s all tea is really, might as well be drinking dirt as well – it’s well– it’s _sweet_. Not overpoweringly so. Just enough that he takes notice, enough to ease the sharp taste that usually lingers at the back of his tongue. Besides that, it’s not unbearably hot either.

He’s still blinking down at the slightly rippling contents of his mug when Alucard speaks again.

“Now, as much happiness as it brings me to see you here–” He’s looking at Sypha as he says it. “–I am admittedly curious about the circumstances surrounding your visit. From the way you spoke, it sounded rather urgent.”

Trevor swallows a large gulp of tea and it goes down hard.

“There have been rumors. Of movement in the east.” Alucard turns to him and he knows he has his full attention. “Renewed efforts from the Horde, talks of demons stronger than anything that's been seen before." 

"Is this true?" 

Alucard turns to Sypha to ask it, and Trevor's tea turns sour in his throat. He huffs but says nothing, turning instead to also watch her reaction.

She nods resolutely and then glances to Trevor. Her mouth opens and closes. After another moment's hesitation, she opens it again, hands bunching around a fistful of her robe where it lays across her lap.

"We've seen them," she says, chin tipping up with determination. "Demons with- with _strange_ mutations. Unlike what we've been used to dealing with."

"Not your garden variety hellspawn," Trevor chimes in. Sypha nods enthusiastically in his direction. "We've been running around the countryside for a _year_ hunting out the stragglers. By all accounts, they should be getting weaker, not stronger. They _should_ be disorganized. Their numbers _should_ be dwindling."

Alucard sits back in his seat. Not deflating, exactly – his poise doesn't waiver – but both hands wrap around his mug and he holds it tight close to his chest.

“Carmilla,” he says. It’s not a question, but Trevor answers anyway.

“That’s what we thought as well.” 

Alucard had filled them in, once upon a time, on what little he knew of the vampire who had always sought any opportunity to rise to power, not contented to be sovereign over only a single region. In the aftermath of the fight with Dracula, they’d found the bodies of dozens of soldiers wearing Camilla’s colors. According to Alucard, her own hadn’t been among them. The evidence had told a story all on its own.

Alucard takes a long drink, brows furrowing in contemplation.

“It’s possible. Likely, even,” he says. “If Carmilla has anything to do with these happenings, they are unlikely to come to an end any time soon. I’m sure she means to make her way here. Once she has amassed an army.”

Sypha stands suddenly, setting her mug down atop the side table next to her; it clinks delicately against the top of the dark wood. 

“That’s exactly why we’re here! We need you to come with us.” Alucard’s eyes widen perceptibly and he lowers his mug. If he was going to make any attempt at response, however, he doesn’t get the chance. “If there _is_ something happening, some greater plan, especially one being overseen by a vampire such as Carmilla, then just the two of us cannot stop it alone. We _need_ you, Alucard!”

“Is that your opinion as well?”

Trevor sighs and sets down his now-empty mug on the cushion next to him, balancing it carefully against his thigh. He rubs his now free hand against the back of his neck.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that we’re stronger _with_ you than without. Because that’s obvious.”

Alucard sets down his cup and stands as well, then, and turns his head slowly from one side of the room to the other. 

“That would mean leaving the castle.”

Trevor chews at the inside of his lip, quite literally biting back a comment that he knows would be not only unnecessary but also unwanted. Alucard isn’t even looking their way. His face is turned to the side, and he’s staring over the desk at the far end of the room. Trevor wonders what he’s actually seeing.

After a moment, he blinks slowly and raises a hand to brush a stray wisp of near-translucent golden hair back from his temple. 

“I may need some time to consider. I don’t know that, in its current state, I can leave the castle unguarded. I have made progress in restoring its defenses, but there is much work to be done still.”

“Yes, but there is _so much_ to be done out there as well!” Sypha thrusts an arm out towards the door to the room, towards the front of the castle. Her eyes sparkle with a light like fire. “The war may be over, but the world won’t put itself back together overnight. They – the people outside of these walls – still need us. They need _you.”_

Alucard’s mouth opens, the points of his fangs just visible behind the curve of his lip. Trevor can’t stop the way his eyes flicker to them. A reminder every time he speaks of what he is, of where he comes from. 

“Look,” Trevor says, before he can offer any further protest. He braces his hands on his knees and stands, if for no other reason to give himself equal footing with the other two. “I understand your hesitation, but you can’t hole yourself up forever. This place will still be here when you return, but there’s a whole world out there sitting between here and whoever – or _whatever_ – may wish to bring harm to it. And whoever is caught in the middle might not be as lucky.”

Alucard’s gaze turns sharply to Trevor, the line of his brow tensing in an expression that Trevor can’t quite discern the meaning of.

“Is that really what _you_ want?”

Trevor blinks and looks to Sypha, but she is watching him almost as carefully as Alucard is. No, the question was definitely directed to _him_. He’s just not sure why. 

“I’m not going to cause any trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He crosses his arms in front of himself, standing tall. “Sypha and I both agreed to come here. We _both_ agreed to ask you for help. Don’t make us beg?”

“You? Beg? I couldn’t imagine it.”

Trevor snorts, but he’s self-aware enough to be familiar with his own stubbornness. Any protests he could make would do little to disavow that impression. He’d be more likely to prove its correctness than anything else. 

_“I_ will not be begging.” Sypha _hmphs._ “Before it comes to that I will drag you out of these doors by your _ears_ . _”_

Alucard huffs a laugh that sounds as though it was almost punched out of him. 

“I do not doubt it,” he says, still with a smile. His mouth opens again, and then closes. His eyes wander towards the window. “This isn’t a decision I can make lightly. I imagine you weren’t planning on setting out until at least tomorrow morning anyway? I will have an answer by then.”

The light in Sypha’s eye visibly dims, but it doesn’t go out. She nods, firm and silent, and Alucard smiles once more.

“That said, I was serious when I said that I was unfortunately ill-prepared to accomodate guests. I will go now and make arrangements for tonight. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” Sypha says, expression softening. She shifts to the side, clearing the path between Alucard and the door, and when he passes close, she reaches out to brush a friendly touch against his arm. He stops just shy of the threshold of the doorway and glances back. 

“Please make yourselves comfortable. You’re of course free to go wherever you’d like.”

And then, in a blink, he’s gone.

Trevor stares at the empty doorway of a room suddenly dropped into silence, and counts his heartbeats. It’s not until after a long time that he finally relaxes and turns. Sypha is next to him, having gravitated closer shortly after they were left alone.

“Well.” He huffs out a loud breath that his lungs had been holding too tightly. _“This_ is going fan _tastic_ ally.” 

She sighs and smacks lightly at his shoulder.

“Trevor!”

“What?” His eyes catch on the mug that is still left on the sofa, tipping at a soft angle against the cushions but fortunately spilling nothing. Because there’s nothing in it to be spilled. “You think there’s a kitchen somewhere in this place?”

It's a complete fluke that they actually do manage to find the kitchen. _(A kitchen_ , at least. Who knows what all is held in the castle’s winding depths?) Trevor sets the mugs he’d carried back from the study – all three of them – down on the countertop since he can see no sign of anything that looks like a washtub. 

He says as much to Sypha. It’s a passing comment, really, that’s all he _meant_ it to be, but she chuckles and turns a pair of brassy knobs on either side of a faucet above a rectangular basin set into the counter. For a moment, nothing happens, but it’s a fleeting moment. As Trevor squints, a steady stream of water bubbles up from the faucet and begins to trickle down a drain in the bottom of the basin. At least until Sypha stoppers it with a flourish.

“Ta-da!” she says, gesturing towards the slowly filling thing that is apparently a washtub and water pump all in one.

“Right,” Trevor says, nose wrinkling as he watches it. “Of course.”

Nonetheless, he shakes his head and approaches it, rolling his sleeves up to bunch around his elbows and dragging the mugs over.

Sypha turns, robes fluttering, to lean back against the edge of the counter next to him, absently watching the flow of the water. She blows a stray strand of light copper hair out of her eyes.

“Do you think he’ll come?”

“You _knew_ when we decided to come here that there was a good chance he wouldn’t.”

Trevor dunks the mugs into the water. It’s warm to the touch – as if he hasn’t had _enough_ surprises for the day – but not unpleasantly so.

“That is not what I asked.”

“I know.” Trevor shrugs without looking up or stopping the movement of his hands. He leans easily to one side when Sypha reaches in front of him to turn the knobs of the faucet once more, stopping the water before it flows over. “Honestly? I don’t know. He seems fairly set on staying put for the time being. That was the case a year ago and it appears to still be the case now.”

Sypha crosses her arms and Trevor can feel the force of her sky blue eyes burrowing through his skull.

“What.”

“Would you care?” It’s not so much a question as an accusation. “If he decided against it. Do you even _want_ him to come?”

Trevor pulls one of the mugs out of the water. Some of it drips back to where it came, falling in rivulets down his hand on its way. Some of it clings stubbornly to the porcelain. He watches it, at least until the dripping slows to a near stop, and then he sets it upside down atop the counter next to him, hoping it will at least begin to dry that way.

“We could use his help, I won’t deny that.”

It’s the truth. He knows better than to turn down assistance where it can be found, and Alucard is more than capable of providing just that. On top of that, Trevor trusts him. As much as he is _capable_ of trusting any creature of the night, at any rate. However, he won’t deny that the thought of fangs at his back as he sleeps still makes something shudder just beneath his skin.

Sypha’s eyes narrow in his direction, but she seems to realize that she’s not going to get any more approval out of him than that because she takes a breath and pushes away from the counter.

They’ve already _had_ this conversation. There’s no reason to rehash it, to continue the slow grinding back and forth over details. If Trevor truly had such an aversion to Sypha’s idea to come and collect Alucard, then he wouldn’t be here right now, and that’s that. They both know it.

Sypha circles around his back like she’s done so many times before out in fields and on city streets. Instead of repelling an attack, however, she just scoops up the clean mug from the counter and carries it over to a drying rack mounted on the far wall that Trevor hadn’t noticed before, slipping the handle of it over one of the hooks.

“See if there’s anything around here to eat, would you?” he calls over his shoulder. “My stomach is starting to remember that we missed lunch.”

Sypha doesn’t answer, but the hinges of a cabinet door creak as it is swung open and Trevor smiles down at the slick mug between his fingers as he pulls it from its bath.

“I’m afraid you won’t find much, if anything.” Trevor nearly drops the mug. “As I’ve mentioned, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Trevor twists, managing to keep his hold steady at the last second, and finds Alucard standing in the doorway. He hadn’t heard him approach. Alucard’s gaze falls to the mug that he’s still holding. He blinks at it slowly, not losing track of it even when Trevor sets it down atop the counter, on the still-damp patch of water left behind by the first mug. It settles with a _clink_ that sounds like a whip crack in the silence.

Alucard blinks, head tilting slightly to one side as he meets Trevor’s eyes.

“Oh, that’s no worry,” Sypha pipes up. Trevor turns back to his washing, but he can still feel the tickle of fine hairs on the back of his neck. He stops himself just in time from swatting at the feeling with a dripping hand. “We still have some of our provisions from the road. It’s not like we’re going to starve.”

Trevor thinks of the chew of dried meat and fruit and the half wedge of hard cheese they’d picked up a few nights back and sighs. He’d _really_ been hoping that their stop would mean a proper meal but, well. He should have known better.

“I could head into the village. It’s not far off, I could return well before nightfall-”

“No need,” Trevor says. “Don’t trouble yourself on our accounts. We’re only here for the one night anyway, right?”

He pulls the final mug from the water and places it into Sypha’s waiting hand without even looking. She takes them both and goes to hang them on the rack alongside their sibling.

“If you’re sure,” Alucard says, with a trace of hesitation in his tone.

“It’s _fine,_ Alucard. Honestly,” Sypha reassures. She crosses the room in his direction. “You’ve done enough for us already.”

Trevor sticks his hand into the depths of the water, feeling for the drain plug, and curses quietly when it reaches all the way up his forearm, lapping at the edge of his sleeve and soaking deep into the white fabric. 

“If you’re sure.”

“We are,” Trevor insists.

He pulls the plug, splashing droplets out across the counter when he does, and watches as the basin begins to empty with an initial _woosh_ ing rumble and then a steady swirling suction. He dries his hands inelegantly by waving them in front of himself. The air that breezes between his fingers is wonderfully cool against his still-warm skin.

“Trust me. I shouldn’t have to tell you that a proper bed beats a blanket on the ground by _miles_ any day.” 

He turns around as the last of the water drains behind him so that he can finally look at Alucard properly. But Alucard’s attention is elsewhere. His face is turned towards Sypha, no, _past_ her. To the drying rack on the wall where all of the mugs hang side-by-side. An army of three.

“Well, then, I hope you’ll be happy to follow me to your rooms.” Alucard still doesn’t turn towards either of them. “Everything should be ready. I figured you could move whatever you may need to bring in. Perhaps wash up. And then I would be happy to join you for an early dinner, if you’ll allow me.”

Before Trevor can point out that _they_ are the ones currently standing in _his_ home, Sypha appears suddenly at Alucard’s side, linking her arm through his. He adjusts almost instantly, before he even looks at her, holding his elbow away from himself so that her hand can more easily find it.

“That sounds like a _great_ plan!” she says. Alucard lets himself be turned towards the door and tugged along with her. “I could use a bath. And have I mentioned how _nice_ the castle looks?”

“I believe you have.”

Trevor follows behind them with much heavier steps, tugging down his sleeves as he goes. 

Alucard drops Sypha off at her room first. Trevor doesn’t know if it’s a favoritism thing or just the fact the room picked for her is closer – which, is _that_ favoritism too? Why does it matter which room they each get if they’re the same? Unless they’re _not_ the same. Maybe Alucard dumped a bucket full of vampire snakes in Trevor’s bed or something. 

He’s still thinking of the mechanics of vampire snakes when Alucard stops just in front of him and he nearly runs into his back. It’s pure reflex that stops him just in time. 

“You’ll be here,” he says, pulling the door open and gesturing inside.

“Right,” Trevor says, rubbing at the back of his neck and praying that Alucard didn’t notice his brief moment of distraction. “Thanks.”

He steps through the door and it’s only _after_ that that he realizes Alucard didn’t actually open the door for Sypha when they’d left her. He turns around to question that, half expecting to find nothing looking back at him besides empty space. What he actually finds is quite the opposite. Alucard has stepped through into the room after him and is standing just there, still holding the edge of the door delicately between his long fingers.

“Uh, yes? Can I help you with something?” Trevor says, hand falling to rest automatically against the handle of the Morning Star at his hip. It’s not until his fingertips graze the cool metal that he realizes he’s even done it, and he forces his hands into fists, crossing his arms over his chest instead. 

“Belmont,” says Alucard.

His eyes flicker to follow the movement of Trevor’s hands, but he doesn’t mention it. Actually, he’s not really saying anything at _all_ . His hand drops away from the door and his chin falls. It takes Trevor too long of a minute to realize he almost looks… _nervous_.

Any other remarks that may have been squirming to make themselves known wither away in the back of his mind, replaced by that realization like a gut punch. He doesn’t even know what to _do_ with that. There’s no reason for him to have been able to put that expression on Alucard’s face. _Alucard_. Of all people.

He blinks blindly at him, tongue tied to the roof of his mouth. And then, before he can think better of it – before he can _think_ at all, really – he hears himself, almost as if at a distance, saying, “You’re not going to put vampire snakes in my bed, are you?”

“What?” Alucard’s head snaps up. 

“Nothing. Never mind.” Trevor rubs a hand down his face. “Look, whatever you want to say, you might as well just go ahead and get it over with. I can’t know _how_ I’m bothering you this time without you telling me.”

Alucard’s usual neutral frown deepens, and his eyebrows draw together.

“No, that’s not–” He stops and starts instead to absently pull at the end of one sleeve. Starts again. “I just need to know. Are you _sure_ you’re alright with the idea? Me, leaving here.” 

Trevor groans. He turns and takes three steps to sit down on the edge of the bed, the blankets across it offering an airy _puff_ at the disturbance. He’s tired. Certainly, he’s too tired for whatever argument _this_ is supposed to be. The long hours on the road don’t often catch up to him, but he’s still mildly stiff from the fight two nights ago and he’s not ready to fight right now.

“You already _asked_ me that. Look, if I didn’t want to be here, I _wouldn’t_ be, it’s as simple as that. Everything I said before is true. We’re _stronger_ with you; that’s a fact. Whatever differences we have–”

“That’s not what I mean.” 

Trevor blinks up, surprised at having been interrupted. In the past, Alucard has at least usually let him finish, no matter how much he’d wanted to debate whatever was coming out of Trevor’s mouth. Besides that, the words themselves don’t make sense. They’re getting stuck somewhere in his skull, not forming a complete thought in his brain. What else–?

Apparently sensing his confusion, Alucard continues.

“You left me in charge of the Belmont hold. Your childhood home. Or what’s left of it.” He moves directly in front of Trevor, filling his immediate field of vision with his slight frame. “It’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly.”

Trevor’s thoughts pull a sharp turn into the subject that seemingly came out of nowhere. One heavy-laden with smoke and memory. And then, it _clicks._

“You’re worried that leaving the castle would be–” He hesitates, still not entirely convinced of the sanity behind the words. “Would be some kind of… _betrayal_. Of your promise to look after the hold?”

“Yes.” 

Alucard says it with no pause, no uncertainty. That, more than anything, is what causes Trevor to reel back. He wants to offer some intelligent answer or some witty response. But all that leaves his mouth is “Why?”

 _“Why?”_ Alucard blinks. “If I were to leave this castle, it would mean leaving the hold unguarded. Of course that would be–”

Trevor waves his hands in front of him, finding himself on his feet again without really planning to be.

“No, no, no. I understand _how_ it could be a breach of our agreement. That’s not what I asked. I want to know why you _care.”_

Alucard looks as if he’s been struck. The toe of his boot scrapes across the wood floor when it gets dragged a step back.

“I made you a promise, Belmont.”

He says it like Trevor should have known the answer without having to ask. Like it’s something simple. Trevor’s mouth opens and closes again.

“Ah.”

Alucard’s face twists into a dark expression, the curve of his mouth stretching taught, the line of his brow hard and straight over golden eyes.

“Whatever preconceptions your _Belmont heritage–”_ This time, when he says the name, he spits it out like something bitter on his tongue, entirely different from before, “–may have given you about me, I can assure you that I am true to my word. I do _not_ offer it lightly.”

“I’ve never doubted that,” Trevor says. He holds his hands up defensively in front of him. “I’ve never doubted your word.”

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, because Alucard is still staring at him, looking like some kind of artist’s rendition of himself, one carved lovingly out of fine marble with intricate chiseling. He doesn’t offer a response to that, so neither does Trevor. After a long moment steeped in a heavy silence, Alucard finally, finally takes a slow breath, shoulders rolling.

“You never answered my question.” Whatever look Trevor gives him must display his confusion, because Alucard continues, “If I were to leave the castle, to leave the _hold,_ would you be alright with that? Not because of me. Not because of Sypha. Because of _you.”_

For a moment, Trevor just blinks. And then, he sits back down on the edge of the bed, breathing out a long huff of air. He still doesn’t fully understand, doesn’t know how they came to this. Or _why_. 

“Yes.” He holds Alucard’s gaze. “I came here to ask you to leave, didn’t I? Think it would be hypocritical of me to do that if I didn’t really want you to. I have no doubts about your capability or willingness to protect the hold. And you’ve done great things here already. But right now you’re better off putting your talents to use _out there_ rather than– than wasting away in a dusty old castle.” A pause. “No offense.”

Alucard is silent for a moment. And then, with a small huff, he shakes his head.

“Alright,” he says. Trevor’s not sure what, exactly, he’s answering. Maybe it’s just a blanket statement. “Thank you. For your honesty.” 

Before Trevor even has a chance to be taken aback by whatever that’s meant to mean, Alucard turns around, the curtain of his hair swishing over his shoulders. He’s already halfway out the door when Trevor says his name. He stops in the space of a heartbeat, glancing back with a question written across his face.

“I don’t plan to make a habit out of lying to you. Just for the record.”

Alucard smirks.

“I know.” 

Then he’s gone.

Trevor _does_ bathe. Not because Alucard mentioned it, but because he has had a _long_ couple of days, and he is tired, and there is a magical, self-filling tub in a room just down the hall from his own. Trevor takes a change of clothes in with him and spies the same knobs and faucet he’s seen now once before. He turns them just as he’d seen Sypha do in the kitchen and sure enough, water flows forth, a miraculous wellspring. Except, well, it isn’t related even _remotely_ to a miracle, is it? In fact, the Church would be quick to utter their righteous condemnations if they knew about it. 

When he wanders back down to the main floor, Sypha and Alucard are already both there, just in the entry hall. Alucard leans against the railing at the bottom of the stairs. He turns away from their conversation to glance up when Trevor comes down but doesn’t say anything, even as Sypha waves her own excited greeting.

They head out to the wagon to gather their provisions inside for a makeshift meal. Alucard untethers the horses and leads them around to the otherwise vacant stables at the side of the castle. Trevor is surprised by how well he handles them. They seem to be exceptionally calm in his presence.

After they’ve brought whatever they plan to need for the night – it’s not much; they don’t generally carry much with them at all – Alucard escorts them to the dining room. This might be the one room in the damn place that even _Trevor_ could have found, given the chance. It’s in a spot that at least makes _some_ sense. 

They settle in with a fair amount of ease, but the air is practically vibrating with tension around them. Trevor can’t keep himself from looking at the goblet just in front of where Alucard sits at the head of the table. It’s opaque, so at least he can’t see its contents, but it’s not wine. It’s not tea this time, either. 

“You changed the carpet,” Trevor says, because there’s nothing else to say and he can’t bear the silence for another second. It’s a stupid commment, and he knows it before it’s even left his lips. He’s not sure Alucard will even understand what he’s talking about-

“You noticed.”

Trevor nods absently. 

“Hard not to. It _used_ to be bright fucking red.” 

He thinks of the entry hall, the long-stretching length of the carpet that had connected one end of the room to the other. The very first thing he’d touched upon stepping foot inside the castle for the first time. Red and gold and red on top of that – patches of dark crimson, splatters of it. Not just across the carpet but over the walls, against the pillars on either side of the room. _Those_ had come clean, but the carpet– No, that hadn’t gotten off so easily. It had still been there when he stepped foot through the doors going the _other_ way, in dark patches soaked deep into the fibers. 

Now, though, there’s no hint of red, not anywhere. It was one of the first things Trevor had noticed when he’d entered. The gold had still been there, although in a different swirling pattern than it had been before, but now it accents a deep, dark jade. Just one of the many little things, the little changes – almost entirely insignificant on their own – that proves this truly no longer is the same castle that had once belonged to Vlad Dracula Tepesh. It has the same walls, sure, the same foundation. But the essence of it has transformed entirely into something new. Something that, even with all the vast empty spaces it hosts in between, holds a spark of life.

Alucard chuckles. It’s a warm sound.

“It’s a good look.”

Alucard smiles, and Trevor shifts his attention back to chewing his next bite of dried meat. He nearly chokes on it a second later when Sypha claps her hands suddenly together.

“Oh, that reminds me of a _story._ Trevor, do you remember that time in Craiova–?”

 _“No.”_ Trevor groans and drops his head into his hand to hide the beginning twitches of a smile. “You’re not _really_ going to tell that, are you?” 

Sypha ignores him completely, sparkling clear-sky eyes turning abruptly.

“Alucard! So, it all started with this _goat_ . The _very_ first night we were there–”

Sypha tells the story, and Trevor can’t help but laugh along with it, even if all of the humor in the situation does come at his own expense. Even Alucard can’t help a small, steady smile. But then, it _is_ a good story.

It’s only after the sun has disappeared from view outside the windows that they eventually leave the table. Trevor reaches for his plate as he stands, but Alucard beats him to it, appearing almost as if out of nowhere to grab it just before he can. He blinks over his shoulder, but Alucard has already turned, reaching across the table for Sypha’s plate. He bids them a quiet goodnight without looking and Sypha leads the way back to their rooms.

Trevor was right: a proper bed beats a blanket on the ground by a mile.

Trevor stops on the stairs before he makes it even halfway to the bottom. Sypha is nowhere to be seen, but he’s not alone, either. 

Alucard is standing in the middle of the darkforest green carpet. He turns just after Trevor stops, attention shifting away from the front of the castle. The tail of his long, black coat flutters near his ankles and one black-gloved hand rests just near his hip, on the hilt of the sword that’s slotted into its scabbard. Trevor’s gaze starts at the shiny black toes of his boots and trails up, _up_ – over tight pants and a loose shirt with a dipping neck – until his eyes lock with Alucard’s.

He continues down the steps, one hand tracing the carefully carved ridges of the stair rail.

“It’s tomorrow morning.”

“So it is,” Alucard says, eyes following his descent with rapt attention. When he reaches the bottom, one side of Alucard’s mouth quirks up in a smirk. Trevor rolls his eyes.

“Well?”

Alucard brushes a long strand of hair back out of his face and looks back towards the front doors.

“Well,” he repeats. 

Just the one word. He doesn’t follow it up with any others, not at first, but Trevor can read everything he needs to know in his face. He thought he’d be surprised, but he isn’t. Somehow, he thinks he’d known. Alucard had said nothing specific, not in so many words, during the conversation last night in Trevor’s bedroom. But he hadn’t been expecting anything else. He’s not sure he ever did. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh. The line of his shoulders relaxes and the tension in his brow eases.

“I see–”

“Good morning!”

Trevor turns at the same time as Alucard, following the source of that familiar bell-voice that rings through the hall to the top of the staircase. Sypha’s hands clutch the edge of the railing with a white-knuckled grip as she leans over it, looking down on them. Even from a distance, Trevor can see the moment that her gaze shifts and her sunshine grin melts into a gasp.

_“Alucard!”_

She forgoes the stairs entirely to instead slide down the railing, robe fluttering out around her. Trevor watches in alarm, arms raising with a stuttering motion in preparation to break her fall if it seems necessary. There’s no need, however. She hops off before she reaches the bottom with perfect timing, landing lightly on her feet on the carpeted stone floor. She crosses straight to Alucard, grabbing his arms. He stands steady even when she comes barreling into him, and smiles down at her.

She’s opening her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it.

“When do we leave?”

Sypha’s grin returns in full force and she throws her arms around his neck. It’s a quick embrace because, a moment later, she leaps back and jumps up with a hand in the air.

“I knew you would come! I _knew_ it.” She spins to glare at Trevor. “See? What did I tell you?”

He raises his hands defensively in front of himself and shakes his head, but he’s chuckling. This time it’s Alucard who offers his hand first; Trevor takes it without any trace of hesitation. 

“Really glad you did decide to join us. I didn’t want to have come all this way for nothing.” 

“Shall we?” 

Alucard bites his lip and Trevor’s eye is immediately drawn to the flash of fang that shows briefly through. He can’t help wondering, not for the first time, what in the _world_ he’s getting himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio stops for the night in a small town in search of real beds and warm food. Sypha mediates. Alucard makes a promise. Trevor buys some meat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna go ahead and date this right now by saying _today's the day!_ I meant to get this up earlier, but I had some last minute changes (and was distracted by a quick rewatch to get me in the mood to binge Season 3 tomorrow. ♥)

By the time they’d gotten outside, Alucard had already readied the wagon and brought it around the front. Everything he would need – and it wasn’t much – had already been packed neatly into it. Trevor had pointedly refrained from looking at or thinking about the ice chest – and the delicate glass clinking of its contents when he’d bumped it while putting the last of the things he had brought into the castle back in their places. 

The whole process had taken them a handful of minutes, and then they’d been on the road. When Alucard had attempted to take the seat at the back of the wagon, Trevor had already been there, legs swinging over the edge, stretching one out to drag the toe of his boot through the dirt-brushed path. He’d be lying if he said the hesitating look of confusion on Alucard’s face hadn’t been a satisfying sight. But then Sypha had called his name, beckoning him to the front, to the empty space next to her, and Alucard had gone without question.

That had been hours ago, when the sun had still been a bright spot just over the horizon; when it had still been making its slow crawl towards the apex of the sky. Now, however, it’s closer to dusk than noon, and Trevor is leaning back in the back of the wagon, his plush fur cloak laid out under him for comfort. The sun has receded just enough that the harshness of its glow is hidden behind leaves and branches, but not enough that he can’t see well down the road behind them.

The movement of the wagon is steady along with the hoofbeats of the horses pulling it, and a light breeze whistles through the trees, carrying the first notes being played by the still-waking night birds. Sypha is still talking at the front of the wagon as she drives – she hasn’t really _stopped_ talking since they left, updating Alucard on their various adventures throughout the last year – and both of their voices drift back to Trevor. Just loud enough for him to hear but not catch the words being said.

His head has fallen low, heavy on his shoulders – low enough for his chin to brush against his chest when it bobs with the movement of the wagon beneath him. His eyelids flutter, his unfocused vision dipping in and out of darkness. His eyes have slid completely closed for, well, he doesn’t know how long – it _feels_ like scant seconds – when the wagon jostles.

He jerks up into a straight sit, body reacting before his mind can catch up. A rush of cold air sobers him as he leaves the body-warmed comfort of his cloak behind. They have come to a dead stop, apparently in the middle of the road. The second he realizes this, he’s grabbing for the Morning Star at his side, but he doesn’t draw it. Not yet.

For a moment, nothing happens. There is no screaming, no shouting, but it’s not silent, either. There is still the chirping of small creatures in the brush. The crackling cry of a crow sounds from somewhere not far off the path to the right.

“Trevor!”

He hops to his feet, still standing on the seat he’d previously been occupying, and grabs a solid support beam, holding tight as he swings himself around to look towards the front of the wagon.

Sypha’s head is poking just over the wagon’s canvas top, and she grins when she catches sight of him. She waves and the sense of _fight_ that had put Trevor’s every nerve on edge fades. He raises a hand lazily in return. 

“Come _on,”_ Sypha calls, and he can sense her exasperation even from feet away. She gestures for him to come closer. “Hurry up!”

“Demanding,” Trevor mutters to himself with a quiet _tsk_ . “Always _so_ demanding.”

He hops off of the wagon anyway, plodding across the dirt to the front of the wagon, swinging his arms at his sides to roll out stiff joints as he goes. He doesn’t ache quite so much as he did yesterday, or even the day before, and he’s grateful for it. Of course, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still _feel_ it. And he’s definitely not going to be able to put that much pressure on himself again – not at the moment, anyway.

He comes to a stop just next to the driver’s bench – on Sypha’s side, of course – and twists his neck from one side to the other, reveling in the tension that is released with a loud _pop_. Sypha pulls a face.

“What’s going on? Why have we stopped?”

“We are about a mile from Bascov.”

“But?”

 _“But_ it is getting late and it will likely be nightfall before we reach town. If we’re going to stop for the night, this is a good place to do it- What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Trevor’s head had been tilted to one side as he’d squinted up at Sypha just above him, but now he shakes his head.

“Like what? I’m just trying to figure out _what_ is going on in that big ol’ Speaker brain of yours. Why would we need to stop here? Unless you know about something I don’t.”

“Well-”

Alucard leans around Sypha, arms crossed and resting primly on one knee.

“I expressed concern that it might be more difficult to secure adequate lodging at such a late hour.”

Ah, not Sypha’s idea then. Actually, that makes a bit more sense. Trevor’s eyes narrow as he studies Alucard’s face for any tells that might offer a hint of insight into what _he’s_ thinking. What he might be _playing at_. But his expression is a blank slate; as usual, it gives nothing away easily.

“C’mon, I’ve gone stumbling into towns just like this one at _much_ later hours – often with some kind of demon leftovers dripping off my shirt – and even _I’ve_ never found any trouble.” Trevor leans one elbow against the wagon, propping most of his weight on that one spot. He smirks, but it doesn’t quite break his glare. “I _doubt_ we’ll have much issue. No offense, but I’m not so keen on the idea of skipping breakfast. I know _you_ don’t need anything other than a pint – and not the _fun_ kind – to get by, but–”

 _“If_ we were to stay here for the night, we could go to Bascov in the morning.” Alucard is scowling, and the corners of Trevor’s mouth only twitch higher. “I don’t expect you to starve yourself. Although I suspect it isn’t _food_ you’re searching for in the local taverns.”

Trevor’s smile drops. He pushes himself off the side of the wagon, standing straight, suddenly all-too conscious of the line of his spine. 

“Look, Bascov’s not exactly a bustling tourist destination. We have coin, and these people will take it; it’s as simple as that.” He gestures towards Alucard, arm swinging wildly out to his side. “If _you_ want to sleep out in the dirt with the bugs and asses, you’re _more_ than welcome to.”

“Trevor!”

“I, however, know better than to turn up the chance at a warm bed for the night, because there isn’t always a guarantee you’ll get that.”

“Trevor,” Sypha repeats, in the same way she’s said it a number of times before to stop him punching a particularly mouthy drunk or negligent guardsperson. “It’s something that was worth _thinking_ about, at least. It’s not as if we haven’t slept in the woods before–”

Trevor throws a hand out in the air, spinning round so he no longer has to see the look on her face – on _both_ their faces. One with a soothing softness that only hides disappointment, and the other all hard glass angles and crystal clear displeasure.

“Do whatever you want. I don’t know _why_ you bothered asking me; I’m always going to be outvoted.” 

“We’ll go on. Into town,” Alucard says through audibly gritted teeth. When Trevor turns back around, he is facing straight forward, pointedly not looking in his direction. “You’re right, Belmont; it was a pointless suggestion.”

“See, _now_ you’re starting to catch on,” Trevor bites out. 

The second the words are out of his mouth, he’s already regretting it. He doesn’t take them back, though. Not even when Alucard visibly bristles, glaring with his teeth bared, a sight that zaps a thrill up Trevor’s spine.

Sypha sighs, putting a placating arm out in front of Alucard’s chest. She glances at him and, apparently deciding that he’s _not_ going to lunge for Trevor, turns her attention back. Her eyebrows form a high, tense arch on her brow. Before she can say anything, Trevor turns, grinding a hole in the dirt under his heel.

“I’m going back to the back of the wagon.”

He returns to his seat, this time sitting straight with his feet dangling over the edge, hands clenched together in tight fists between his knees. He doesn’t hear voices – although he’s sure they must be there – but a moment later, the reins crack softly in the near distance and the horses start to walk once more, building up steadily into a trot. The wagon, of course, follows after them, wheels crunching along the dry path as they inch forward on well-greased axles.

Bascov is home to a single tavern. No surprise there, really. It’s a town that _does_ appear on the maps, but just barely, and only then if one squints. 

In some ways that makes things easier. They don’t have to look hard to find a place to sleep, because the tavern is almost smack in the center of town and, more importantly, it’s the only establishment on any block that’s active this late into the evening. Plus, they can generally be certain that there’s not really anywhere _else_ nearby for people to gather. Which makes catching any notable news that might be floating about the streets a simple task. That is, _if_ people are willing to talk. 

Because the fact that there’s only one tavern in town and they’ll be staying there _also_ means that everyone who passes through knows that they’re outsiders. And, in some places, an outsider is the worst thing you can be. Besides, perhaps, well– 

Trevor glances to where Alucard is standing at the front of the wagon, his long fingers unbridling the horses with ease. He strokes one gloved hand along the side of a muzzle and the horse leans her head into the touch.

“I’ll go in ahead and get us rooms for the night,” Trevor says. It’s only when Alucard turns at the sound of his voice and catches his eye that he realizes he’s been staring. He blinks and turns around, back towards the front of the cabin. Sypha stops where she’s been rifling through their things and looks to him. “You secure the wagon. Anything we can’t afford to lose comes inside with us. I’ll be back out as soon as I can. Until then… don’t go anywhere?”

He glances back at Alucard after the last sentence, but his attention has shifted back to the horses and he gives no indication that he heard. But he did. Trevor knows he must have. 

“Try not to take too long?” Sypha says, rubbing at her arms. The words are visible in the early night air, a puff of translucent white.

Trevor nods, patting her shoulder with a smile as he passes.

Even from outside the tavern, he can hear the low murmur of voices that he already knows to be a mere reflection of the true clamor inside. Sure enough, the moment the door swings open, the volume increases – the sound of talking, and soft strains of music below that, spilling out onto the otherwise quiet streets. All the familiar sounds of civilization that he has come to recognize in numerous cities across the years. 

When he steps inside, the door squeaks loudly closed behind him. It draws more than one eye, and for a moment, the conversation dies down. Not enough to render the room completely silent, but more than enough to be noticeable. By more than just him. He keeps his chin up and his face strictly forward as heads continue to turn. The man behind the counter finds him easily and holds his eye. Trevor places one hand casually against his hip, just close enough to the longsword at his belt, as he walks straight through the crowd.

By the time he reaches the man at the counter, the din of conversation seems to have found its previous volume once again. There are still glances. Murmurs. But he’s almost certain that if he were to turn back around, he would find most faces stuck down once again, much more interested in their flagons than the stranger passing through.

“Can I help you?” The man behind the counter is filling a tankard. His voice is gruff but not unfriendly. 

“Yeah, hi. I’m just passing through; looking for lodging for the night. This seemed like the place to come.”

“Sure,” the man says. The tankard, now with a layer of foam spilling over the rim, clunks down hard on the counter. A young man who hadn’t previously been there scoops it up with practiced grace, depositing no less than three empty glasses in its place, and then he’s gone. “Just you, is it?”

“Oh no,” Trevor says, leaning most of his weight into one arm atop the counter and watching him carefully. But the man just takes up the new glasses and turns around to dunk them into a washbasin behind him. “My friends are just outside.” 

“How many rooms will you be needing, then?” The man glances back over his shoulder but doesn’t turn around. 

“Three,” Trevor says, holding up the same number of fingers. “If you have it.”

“How long’ll you be staying?” 

When he finally does turn back, he faces Trevor from just on the other side of the counter. He has a dishcloth that looks at least _mostly_ clean in one hand and a brass flagon in the other. Trevor doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the crest that adorns the left breast of his shirt, but he doesn’t say anything more. Just stares, waiting for an answer. 

“Only for the night. We’re just passing through.” 

“Right, then. I’ll have Magritte show you to your rooms.” 

“Great,” Trevor says, knuckles rapping a quick one-two against the counter as he pushes himself up. “I will go grab my friends.” 

The man nods with a small grunt of acknowledgement and, without another word, returns to his work. 

Trevor tosses a couple of coins onto the counter and slinks back out into the night. As soon as he passes through the door, the cold air hits his face with renewed bitterness. He hadn’t realized just how much warmer the tavern had been than the outside world until he had left the comfort of it. An involuntary shudder wracks him, and suddenly, he’s endlessly grateful that they’re _not_ going to be sleeping on the ground tonight. Did Alucard _really_ think that would be preferable? With this spring’s-end cold snap that they just can’t seem to entirely shake? Of course, he doesn’t really feel the cold, icy bastard that he is.

“Well?” Sypha says the second he rounds the corner.

“All set.” Trevor takes the basket that she barely has a hold of with two hands props it up against his hip, under his arm. “They’ve got three rooms for us. Told you we wouldn’t find any trouble.”

Speaking of _three_ rooms– It takes Trevor a second to locate the final member of their party. Alucard has practically melted into the shadows just behind where the wagon has been secured for the night and it takes Trevor yet another moment to realize why. He has a long, dark cloak tied loosely around his shoulders, the hood of it pulled up over his hair, normally a streak of light even in the night.

“You’re not _really_ wearing that,” Trevor says before he can think better of it. Even in the dark, he can see the way Alucard bristles, narrowed gold-bright eyes a stark contrast to the rest of him in his current state.

“Now you’re taking issue with the way I choose to dress? I hadn’t thought even _you_ would stoop so low to try and insult me, Belmont.”

Trevor rolls his eyes.

“You’re going to get us _robbed.”_

Alucard stops, face twisting into an altogether different expression. Even Sypha raises an eyebrow in Trevor’s direction.

“Excuse me?” Alucard says, and Trevor can hear in his voice that he’s actually managed to catch him off-guard. Even so, there’s little satisfaction in it. 

“Look, in a town this small we’re going to draw attention. The locals will already be suspicious without you prancing in there looking like _that_ . _”_ Alucard’s frown only deepens, brows drawing tense together as he blinks. Trevor sighs. “It’s bad enough that I walked in brandishing a noble family crest smack in the center of my chest.” He gestures to said crest. “On top of that, if you come in all tall and stoic and looking like you’ve got something to hide, people are going to be even _worse_ than suspicious. They’ll be curious.”

“Why is _that_ worse?” Sypha asks.

Trevor glances her way; her button nose is wrinkled in an all-too familiar expression. He reshifts the weight of the basket at his hip and rubs a hand hard over his face. She, of all people, should know the importance of discretion. The tendency of humans to scorn what they see as different. She’s been around enough by now to have seen it happen far too often – or so he would have thought. But then again, in the long year they’ve spent travelling, hardly any time has passed at all.

 _“Because_ it’s human nature to want to learn secrets. Sometimes by whatever means necessary. And I can tell you what I almost _guarantee_ they’ll assume. Bodyguard.” Trevor’s hand falls from his face to instead point a finger at the center of his own chest. He points to Alucard. “Extremely rich noble. Maybe a shady businessman, or an heir on the run. Whatever the case, someone who can be taken advantage of – or bartered with – for profit. Of course, we all know that the truth is much worse. And the _last_ thing we need is anyone looking more closely at you than they already will be.”

Alucard pulls the hood of his cloak down so that Trevor can finally properly see his face. His eyes don’t bleed hellfire, quite like Trevor had thought they would. Instead he seems almost… unsure. It’s a strange look on him.

“And if they figure out what I really am anyway?”

Trevor snorts.

“They won’t. I’m positive no one in this town has ever seen a vampire, nonetheless a _dhampir.”_

For a fleeting moment, Alucard’s eyes widen. His hand twitches where it still holds the hood of the cloak. And then it’s gone. So quick that it could have just been Trevor’s imagination. 

He holds his hand out – not sure _why_ he does it, but he does. A gesture of peace. An offering.

“Trust me?”

Alucard stares at his hand and, for a long moment, he doesn't move. Then, with a sigh, he raises his hands and undoes the clasp of his cloak. Trevor's arm falls back to his side as he watches Alucard bunch up the fine, dark fabric and toss it all in a messy clump back into the back of the wagon. 

"Happy?" He raises an eyebrow in Trevor's direction, arms spread at his sides, presenting his newly cloakless form. Trevor smirks.

"Getting there. Let's go."

Alucard doesn't actually roll his eyes but that very same expression is still on his face. He picks up his metal ice chest, ghosting past Trevor when he steps forward. 

"What am I?" Sypha tugs on Trevor’s sleeve and he turns to her with a frown.

_“Sorry?”_

“What _am_ I?” she repeats, exasperated, handing over a second basket which Trevor takes with one hand. “Alucard gets to be a noble and you’re his bodyguard, but what’s _my_ role?”

Trevor groans, wishing immediately that he still had a hand free so that he could rub at the sudden ache in his temple. 

“You realize it doesn’t _matter_ right? We aren’t really _trying_ to play these roles?” 

Sypha _hmphs_. 

“Yes, but I want to know. How come I’m the only one who doesn’t get a role?”

Trevor rolls his eyes and starts to walk.

“I don’t know. You could be a bookkeeper or a-a _squire_ or something.”

“A squire!” Sypha gapes at him, cheeks puffing out indignantly. “That was really the best you could do, _Belmont?_ A squire. I cannot believe–” 

Where he’s walking just in front of them, Alucard hums thoughtfully. 

“You can be my consul,” he says, and Sypha lights up, grin stretching from ear to ear. She skips ahead at just a quick enough pace to catch up with him. “My advisor in all things.” 

“Ooh, _yes._ I like the sound of that.” Sypha hooks her arm through Alucard’s and glances back over her shoulder to stick her tongue out at Trevor. _“Much_ better. Oh! That also means that I would have authority over Trevor.”

“I suppose it would,” Alucard hums and Sypha chuckles.

Trevor leads the way into the tavern, stopping only briefly in front of the door to readjust the things in his arms so that he can open it. 

This time, the looks they receive aren’t quite as obvious. People have seen him before; they were expecting his return. He can practically _feel_ the tension Alucard is radiating at his back, but – with the exception of a single glance back to make sure he’s not about to run for the hills – Trevor keeps his eyes strictly forward. If he doesn’t act like there’s something he doesn’t want them to notice, then they won’t look for it. That’s just how people work.

Before they make it even halfway through the room, a tall woman – as tall, at least, as Trevor himself – stops just in front of them, halting their progress. The full volume of her dark, curly hair has been tamed, tied back into a well-contained bun atop her head. She looks unmistakably like the man behind the counter, who Trevor can still see just behind her. Magritte, then. 

“Hi,” he says, raising a hand - basket and all - in an approximation of a greeting. “We had-”

“Three rooms, sure. This way.” 

Without waiting for any kind of answer, the woman spins on her heel, headed straight for a staircase near the back corner of the room. Trevor’s hand falls back to his side and he marches diligently onward, following in her footsteps.

The inn space that occupies the top floor of the tavern actually splits off into two hallways that, if they are identical, contain a total of eight rooms – four in each. Magritte leads them to the nearest hallway, starting at the first room. She pulls a heavy keyring out of the pocket of her skirts and flips through it for only a moment before apparently finding what she was looking for. She slips the key free with ease and unlocks the door, pushing it open before turning around to wordlessly hand the key over to Trevor. He sets down his basket and she drops it into his hand. 

“Thanks,” he says, slipping it into a pocket. He doesn’t enter his room right away. Instead, he waits as she crosses the hall and unlocks that door. “Magritte, right?”

The woman glances back over her shoulder, offering him a tight smile.

“Right,” she says before turning back to give Sypha her key. “Will you be needing anything else tonight, then?”

Trevor thinks, briefly, of the kitchen downstairs, and the potential for a hot meal consisting of fresh, undried food just _waiting_ to be made and eaten. And then, he remembers the stares, and the whispers, and he glances to where Alucard is standing, looking like he’s trying to shrink himself down behind Sypha’s tiny frame, head bowed and hair falling in sleek gold waves across his eyes. 

“No,” Trevor says, stomach twisting in protest the moment the word leaves his mouth. “No, that will be all.” 

Magritte nods and moves back across the hall one last time, making for the door next to Trevor’s. She doesn’t even glance up as she passes Alucard, but that doesn’t stop him from shrinking impossibly back, pressing himself nearly into the wall. It’s only when she unlocks the final door and realizes there is no one waiting in her immediate vicinity to accept the key that she squints in his direction, brows drawn together. She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Trevor is there, putting himself between her and Alucard, flashing her his brightest smile. 

“Thank you,” he says, hand outstretched. She tilts her head to look over his shoulder, but he shifts easily with her, blocking her curious gaze. “You’ve been a big help.” 

She turns on him, eyebrows raised, but just plunks a third key into his hand.

“Sure,” she says. “Breakfast is just after sun-up.”

“Great,” Trevor says, his mouth already watering with the phantom taste in anticipation. “We’ll be there.” 

Magritte is already walking away, but she waves a flippant hand to indicate that she heard. Not that that means she _cared_. Trevor watches her retreat closely, but she doesn’t even glance back. In a handful of seconds, he can hear her footsteps on the stairs. 

As soon as she’s gone, he turns to face his companions. Alucard has peeled himself away from the wall, but he still looks something more like a rabbit than a man, chin up and staring distantly around the corner where the woman was but a minute ago. Trevor bites his tongue against saying anything about it. Instead, he claps his hands together, which seems to bring Alucard at least a little bit closer to earth. Some of the tension eases from his jaw as he looks towards the sound.

“Alright,” Trevor says. “What needs to go where?”

“I have everything I need,” Alucard says, lifting the ice chest between his hands into the air just the tiniest bit. “I would, however, be glad to watch over anything else. It’s unlikely I will do much sleeping tonight.”

Sypha points to the slightly larger basket that Trevor had been carrying against his hip – The first one she’d handed to him and the significantly heavier of the two.

“That is mine. Yours is the other one.”

“You packed _me_ a basket,” Trevor says, one eyebrow shooting up towards his hairline. “What did-? Nevermind. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. But what in the _world_ is in yours?”

Sypha shrugs, floating forward to grab the handle of the aforementioned basket with both hands. She lifts it with only a modicum of initial strain.

“Books, mostly.”

“Books.”

“You said everything we can’t afford to lose. You _know_ these are valuable.”

“To _who?”_ Trevor mutters, but she doesn’t fall to it. Just offers him a sunny grin and backs across the hall until she can raise her foot behind her and gently kick open the door to her room.

“Good _night,”_ she singsongs.

“Be up by sunrise!” Trevor calls to her closing door. “Don’t be late!”

With a final creak of protest, the door shuts with a click, leaving him and Alucard alone in the hallway.

Trevor huffs, sincerely hoping she’ll heed his warning. After all, if there’s one thing he’s learned about Sypha after a year of knowing her, it’s that she’s not strictly a morning person. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to break down her door or physically uproot her from her bedroll in order to get her moving. And he’s _not_ going to listen to her complain all day about not having gotten breakfast.

When he turns around, Alucard is standing in the middle of the hall, looking more out of place than Trevor has ever seen him. More than he thought he could even look. He takes the first steps forward, meeting him in the middle. He holds out the key that’s still in his hand, pinched between two fingers.

“Here. Don’t lose it? They tend to frown on that sort of thing. Make you pay extra.”

Alucard blinks at it for a second, almost as if he doesn’t recognize it or– no, like it’s something he doesn’t quite understand. A puzzle with a missing piece. And then he takes it, plucking it delicately from Trevor’s gloved fingertips, barely even brushing them with his own. He holds it flat in his palm, still staring. Just as Trevor’s about to turn around, he speaks up.

“I thought I was supposed to be a– How did you put it? Extremely rich noble? Or was it heir on the run?”

Trevor’s surprise punches a snorted laugh out of him. 

“Well, it's not _entirely_ untrue, is it?”

“I suppose it isn't.” Alucard's smile is wry. “Not on the run, though. I could have stayed outside of town for the night.”

Trevor freezes, caught by the sudden change of subject in the same way he might be caught by an underhanded strike. Before he can question it, Alucard continues, rolling over anything he might have had to say.

“Left to my own devices, I would have been less of a burden. Least of all, you could have saved yourself the trouble of acquiring extra accommodations, considering I don't plan on sleeping.”

“Not an option,” Trevor growls. He's not sure which of them is more surprised by the outburst. Even so, he means it. 

“Surprising,” Alucard mutters. “I thought you would jump at any chance to see me gone, even for a mere handful of hours.”

Trevor's hands clench into fists at his sides and he fights back against the urge to swing them.

“I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I _chose_ this – to be here with you – before you get it into your head that _that's_ the truth. Maybe you never will.” He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don't give a shit. Point is, you're with us now and I'm not giving you any chance to run off back to your castle to rot on your own in the middle of the night.”

Alucard bristles, gold eyes flashing dangerously.

“I _wouldn't,”_ he hisses. “I gave my _word,_ Belmont-”

“Did you?” Trevor snaps and Alucard's glare only intensifies. “Because, if you made any kind of promises, you didn't make them to me. All _I_ heard you say was that you'd come with us. You said nothing about sticking around.”

Alucard straightens, standing stiff at his full, glorious height and looking down at Trevor with that infuriatingly haughty expression that always instantly puts the hairs on the back of his neck on a razor edge. When he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous.

“Then listen now, and listen well. I give you, Trevor Belmont, last son of the Belmont family, my binding word that I will see this through at your side until such a time at which you no longer desire or require my assistance.”

Trevor nods. He can't say anything. His heart has leapt into his throat and is pounding away there. He swallows, and it hurts, but it clears up just enough room for him to speak. Even still, his voice comes out hoarse in a way he prays Alucard doesn't notice.

“Good. I'll hold you to that.” He deflates, suddenly aware of how tired he is. The day may not have been a hard one, but it has been long – full of nothing but travel. Just this morning, he had woken up inside of _Dracula’s castle,_ a place where he could never have imagined getting a restful night’s sleep before a year ago. “After all, if you left, I would have to be the one to have to break the news to Sypha. Neither of us wants that.”

 _“Sypha,”_ Alucard mutters, turning his face to the side. “Of course.”

Trevor doesn’t know why he didn’t think of invoking Sypha’s feelings earlier on in this conversation. If there’s anything at all that can get Alucard to stay put, it must be her. He’s always had a soft spot for her. Or, well, that’s what Trevor had _thought._ He’s not entirely sure what the bitter twist that twitches at the corner of Alucard’s lips now is about.

With nothing else left to say, at least for the night, Trevor raises one half-hearted hand in a poor facsimile of a wave.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Alucard.”

He doesn’t wait for the response that won’t come. Just turns to pick up his basket and retreats into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Trevor doesn’t wake with the sun. Technically, he wakes before it. His body has gotten used to making sure he is on his feet and ready to move well before trouble can find him, especially over the last year. And at some point while travelling, he had apparently gotten used to a set schedule. It’s more consistency than he’d had in _ages_ preceding that. 

Here, within four walls, with the sun just barely creeping through the room’s single window, he knows he is, for once, safe. Not as safe as he had been the night before, perhaps – lined by the stone slabs of a veritable fortress with all of it’s magical, mechanical defenses – but it’s still safer than lying out against the earth with nothing between himself and full exposure to the open sky except for a handful of flimsy tree branches, still growing in their leafy covering this early in the spring. So he takes his time in getting up. Lets himself indulge for what he _knows_ is a handful of minutes too long, but is helpless to deny himself anyway. Just lays in place atop the stiff, dipping inn mattress, cocooned in the full warmth of his fur cloak. White tufts tickle at his nose where he has it pulled tight around his shoulders, far enough up to cover his chin.

He’d found it in the basket Sypha had saddled him with last night. Just before he’d dragged himself to bed and passed out, he’d had a brief moment of curiosity in which he’d finally bothered to look at what she’d put in there, and he’s grateful that he had. He’s certain he didn’t stuff the full plush weight of his cloak into any baskets, but there it had been anyway. He has to remember to thank Sypha for that – she knows how cold these early spring nights can be, and how much he’d rather seek sanctuary under as many thick layers as possible than have to feel the chill.

After a few minutes, when he feels as though his consciousness is in danger of drifting back out of his grasp, he finally forces himself to emerge, yanking all of the covers off at once and standing. He hisses quietly when his heels meet the uncovered wooden floor beneath him and a jolt of ice shoots through his veins.

In another couple of minutes, he’s fully dressed and shoving his cloak back into the basket that had gotten left in the middle of the floor last night. Leaving it for the time being, he steps outside, locking the door to his room behind him and stepping just across the hall to pound the side of his fist against the door there.

The sound ricochets as a deep crack throughout the floor. There is no response, not right away, and Trevor gives it approximately twenty seconds before rapping again.

“Sypha!” he calls, face nearly pressed against the door. “It’s _morning.”_

His mental countdown restarts and, just as his fist twitches with the beginnings of raising a third time, the handle clicks and the door swings open, stopping part of the way. Sypha stands on the other side, staring through the gap with half-closed eyes, cherry hair a flopping mess atop her head.

“I’m awake,” she says, and then immediately yawns.

“Sure,” Trevor chuckles. The door slams closed in his face.

He shakes his head and huffs a laugh under his breath, moving to lean against the wall next to the door – on the opposite side of where it opens, of course. He’s not _entirely_ stupid. He doesn’t have to wait long for Sypha to reemerge, looking slightly more awake and with her hair wrangled carefully into place. She still hides a yawn behind her hand, but her eyes are bright. 

“Alright!” she says, clapping her hands together in front of herself. “Breakfast.”

“Yes, thank _god,”_ says Trevor.

They walk together down the stairs back to the tavern on the ground floor. However, thanks to Sypha’s height, she can see into the room before Trevor can. One second, she’s there and the next she’s gone, skipping the last couple of steps and trotting ahead after him.

Before he can question why, however, he takes another step and the answer presents itself to his own eyes. Alucard had beaten them down – of _course_ he had; Trevor hadn’t doubted it when he said he would be doing very little sleeping the previous night – and he’s already sitting at a table near the corner of the room. It’s not one of the one’s that’s up against the wall, but it’s about as close as it could be. 

“Good morning,” Alucard greets when Sypha hurries over to pull out the chair across from him. “Sleep well?”

Trevor hadn’t realized that he’d stopped until his feet start moving again, carrying him across the room.

“Better than I would have out on the ground,” he says. 

Both of them ignore him and he doesn’t huff, exactly, but he does pull a third chair out of four – the one between them that’s facing the door – loudly out from the table so that he can take a seat. Alucard sips at the mug in his hands, which Trevor can’t help but regard with apprehension. It doesn’t _smell_ salty and metallic, anyway.

“I did, thank you for asking,” Sypha says. “Did _you_ manage to sleep at all?”

“I’m afraid not,” Alucard says with a little smile.

As Sypha fusses – unnecessarily, Trevor thinks; of the three of them, Alucard is the _last_ person she should be worrying about – he turns over his shoulder, hoping to wave some hot food over before the roiling of his stomach makes itself very publicly known. Sure enough, the man from last night, the one tending the bard whose name Trevor unfortunately hadn’t caught, sees his gesture and offers a curt nod across the room. Just as Trevor is about to turn back around, he notices a second woman stop the man from putting down the glass he’d been wiping clean with a quick touch to his arm. It’s Magritte, it must be, except her hair isn’t tucked into so tight a bun this morning. It’s only half tied back, so that a wave of it brushes her shoulders, a few short curls that have gone astray framing her face. She barely even looks their way before disappearing into the back room behind the counter.

Trevor turns back in his seat to see Sypha leaning halfway across the table, just as Alucard is saying, “I don’t really feel the cold.”

“Oh, that must be nice,” Sypha says, and then she laughs. “You are the exact opposite of Trevor, then. When it comes to cold weather, he is _such_ a baby. Starts shivering as soon as there’s even the _slightest_ chill.” 

“Sypha,” Trevor grumbles, face dropping into his hand to hide the flush that he can already feel prickling at his cheekbones.

“Sorry!” she says, not sounding the least bit sorry at all. Trevor glares at her through his fingers and she props herself up, hands against the edge of the table, still grinning. “I think I am going to get a drink. Do you want anything?” 

“Ale?” 

She stands and smacks him. Before she’s gotten even a foot from the table, she’s already holding up a hand and calling, “Excuse me!”

Trevor’s hand drags down his face and falls away. He smiles as he shakes his head before raising his eyes once more to meet Alucard’s. He’s expecting ribbing – some kind of jab about his thin skin or brittle bones. He’s not expecting the pure _acid_ in the glare that is being levelled at him. His face drops into a mask of calm.

“You could have forgone the formalities and gotten two rooms instead of three,” Alucard says, voice low and foreboding. “Unless you really think so little of me.”

Whatever defense Trevor might have had ready dies, sinking along with his furrowed brow. 

“Is it just me getting déjà vu? Why are you bringing this exact thing up again now? I’ve already told you that I’m not letting you out of my sight, and you said–” 

“I’m not talking about _my_ room.”

It’s barely more than a low growl and Trevor’s chair scrapes with a low screech against the floor. It’s only at the last second that he stops himself from standing up entirely. The Morning Star’s chain rattles, loud in the silence of the room, as Trevor’s hand falls away from it and back to his side. He takes a deep breath.

“I sincerely don’t know what in the _world_ you’re talking about.”

“Do _not–”_

Alucard stops and straightens up and, instantly, Trevor is on edge. A moment later, he jolts when a mug lands carefully on the table just in front of him with a quiet clunk. Sypha. He hadn’t heard her approach.

“Thanks,” he mutters without breaking Alucard’s gaze. Then, he gets a good whiff of the contents of the mug as steam rises over the edge, and his nose wrinkles. “Wait, no. I take that back. What the _fuck_ is this.”

Sypha rolls her eyes as she pulls out her chair and settles back into her seat.

“It is _tea,”_ she says, “and it won’t kill you to drink it.” 

“Are you sure about that?”

“You are _such_ a child.”

“You love me,” Trevor mutters, smiling into his drink. When he does take a sip, he pulls a face, and his thoughts wander, unbidden, back to a warm study in an otherwise cold castle – one with tall windows and a plush sofa – and sweet tea in a bone-white mug.

Sypha laughs at his expense as he sticks his tongue out with a disdainful noise, but he can never truly be mad at her. Across the table, Alucard turns his face away, eyes drifting towards the front of the building. 

Trevor hefts the last of their things lazily into the back of the wagon. It's not the _most_ organized it could be, but everything fits and that's more important. The weight of breakfast – quite literally the best and most filling meal he's had in days – still sits warm in his belly and he really wants nothing more than to march right back to the top floor of the tavern and sink face first back into the mattress he'd occupied last night. Just for a while. An hour, maybe. 

Unfortunately, they don't have the affordance of that kind of luxury. There are still things that need doing before they can leave Bascov entirely behind them. 

“Alright,” Trevor says, brushing his hands on his pants. Sypha pushes herself off the edge of the wagon next to him. "You know the drill. Scout the town, make sure all's quiet, listen for any news from the east. And when nothing comes up – which it _won't_ – we'll resupply and then we're off." 

Sypha salutes with a grin and a quick “Aye-aye!”

“Scout the town?” Alucard asks at his other side, appearing there suddenly from where he had previously been propped up against the back corner of the stable building. “What do you mean? I thought the intent was to leave.” 

“Right,” Trevor mutters. He’d almost forgotten that this routine, one he and Sypha have become achingly familiar with, isn’t one that Alucard has participated in before. “The intent _is_ to leave. But-”

 _“But,”_ Sypha hops in, “our goal has always been to help wherever we can. Which means if there are problems, we are going to find them.”

Trevor nods and Alucard turns a quizzical eye on Sypha.

“Problems?”

“Of the demonic variety, mostly,” Trevor says. “Go with Sypha; she’ll show you the ropes. Like I said, I highly doubt anything will turn up.”

Trevor pats at the waist of his shirt, feeling for the handful of coins that he’s _pretty_ certain he left there – ah, yep. There they are. That’ll do. He doesn’t want to go running around with a full purse at his belt, after all, especially not after lecturing Alucard last night about getting them robbed. He turns and doesn’t get a single step further before he is stopped.

“Excuse me? _Where_ do you think you are going?”

Trevor looks back over his shoulder and blinks at Sypha’s crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

“Um. I’m going to do my job? What–?”

“Oh _no._ Not by yourself, you’re not,” Sypha huffs. She presses a hand flat into the center of Alucard’s back. Although, despite her little grunt of exertion, he doesn’t actually move. “First, you know much better than I how to do this. Second, if you truly want him to learn, he will do so better in a well-populated area. This time of day, the marketplace will be filling quickly. _Third_ . I will not be dealing with every _single_ person who sees us together assuming we are married.”

She pulls a face and Trevor blinks. That’s– a good point, actually. Sypha will draw much more attention walking the streets accompanied by a man who isn’t her husband than she would by herself. He glances from her to Alucard and then back again. And sighs.

“Fine,” he says, carding a hand through his hair. “Alucard, you’re with me, then.”

The blank slate of his marble features twitches apart as he averts his gaze. The blonde wave of hair that falls across his shoulders isn’t quite quick enough to cover the way he chews at his lip, one sharp-pointed fang peeking into view.

“I could just wait here. Or do my own search outside of town. I am, after all, much quicker than you.” 

Trevor doesn’t rise to the jab, can’t bring himself to take it seriously when the words are being directed at the grass and leaves underfoot. He doesn’t know what it is about this town that puts that strain on Alucard’s face and hardens the set of his shoulders, but he’s starting to detect a pattern. 

“You know that’s not an option,” he says. He bites his tongue against any further explanation, painfully aware of Sypha’s presence half a meter away. He doesn’t look at her.

For a moment, he thinks Alucard is going to ignore him entirely. He could easily play dumb, force Trevor into the corner of having to either reveal the facets of the arguments they’ve had over the last couple of days to Sypha or give into his – frankly childish – refusal to cooperate. Then, Alucard raises his chin and his stony veneer of blanket indifference has returned.

“Fine, then. I will accompany you.”

“Thank you,” Trevor says, with more than a little sarcasm dripping behind it. He can’t stop the way his eyes roll as he turns around. “Let’s go, then. Chop, chop.” 

He doesn’t have to look back to know that Alucard is following.

Just as Sypha had said, the marketplace is starting to fill with the daily bustle. The town is fully awake by this point in the day, moreso than it has been since they first arrived. 

“Just follow my lead and try to pay attention,” Trevor instructs, earning himself a wordless scowl in response.

He starts at a stall manned by a woman who appears to be more muscle than skin, despite the fact that she’s only about as tall as Spyha. There is meat hung from just about every available surface, both dried and fresh, and Trevor pretends to peruse, not missing the way Alucard’s eyes flicker to a particularly juicy leg of lamb near the back. Admittedly, he’s glad he already had breakfast, or this would be a much more difficult task. 

After a while, he fishes for his coin much more visibly than is strictly necessary and ends up pulling out a pair, sliding them across the well-cleaned counter. The woman accepts them without taking her eyes off of him. 

“What d’you want?” 

Trevor points, and she unhooks a lean slab of fresh, red beef from the corner of the stall. She sets it down on the counter with a wet smack and grabs a long knife with a wide edge – an instrument somewhere between a knife and a cleaver. 

“Thick sliced s’fine,” Trevor says before she can ask, flashing a smile as she closes her mouth and nods, setting to work. Then, like it’s an afterthought, “You’re well-stocked.”

“Turning out to be a good year, it seems,” the butcher grunts. “Not even properly spring yet, and there are already calves in the fields.”

“Really,” Trevor hums, leaning one elbow on the counter. He watches her face while she watches her hands. “There have been no recent problems, then, I take it. No illness or sheep disappearing in the night? Wolves?”

It’s not until after Trevor says it that he remembers the _wolf_ standing at his own back. He glances over his shoulder, ready with a grin. The insinuation may have been unintentional, but he’ll be damned if he lets the opportunity slide. However, those gold-glinting eyes aren’t actually burning into him. Instead, they are sweeping across the length of the marketplace, skittering across the cobblestones and tracking whatever passes their field of view. 

Trevor’s brow furrows, but before he has time to say anything, the butcher is answering the question he’d almost forgotten he’d asked.

“Nah, we don’t get many beasts around here. Nothing worse than the occasional coyote. All things said, been a quiet winter, it has.”

“Glad to hear it,” Trevor hums. 

He watches as she lays out a wide strip of thick brown paper atop the counter and uses the knife to carefully slide two near-identical, freshly cut strips of meat onto it. There isn’t much there, but it’s not like that was the point anyway. Her deft hands wrap it into a small, neat package and tie it up with a length of twine.

“Thank you,” Trevor says, accepting it from her outstretched hand. “Good day.”

When he turns with a final wave of his hand, Alucard’s attention has apparently returned from wherever it had wandered off to. He casts a sideways glance at the butcher, who holds his eye for the fleeting length of a blink before reaching for – and missing – a rag that rests in a heap at the corner of the counter. After a beat, Alucard turns, easily falling in step with Trevor as he heads once again towards the center of the marketplace.

The air around them is heavy, and Trevor doesn’t know where to even begin addressing this strange, quiet state that Alucard has settled into. It is by no means the first time Trevor has seen him fall into a steady silence, but there’s something unusual about this. It’s _unsettling._ And that’s an entirely separate path of thought – the fact that he doesn’t find Alucard’s more usual bouts of contemplative silence unsettling – a path that he refuses to trek down right now.

For lack of anything else to say, Trevor thrusts the wrapped meat in Alucard’s direction. His knuckles _thunk_ softly against a sturdy forearm. 

“Here,” he says, voice light around the upturned corners of his mouth. “For you. A snack for later.”

There is no response, good or bad. No hint of a chuckle, or derisive huff, or even an eyeroll. Alucard just frowns and blinks – first at him, and then at the package in his hand. Trevor pulls his hand back and clears his throat, the line of his shoulders straightening.

“You don’t– I was kidding. You don’t actually have to take it.” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the package disappears from his grasp, plucked lightning-fast from between his fingers by careful hands. 

“Thank you,” Alucard says, no more than a murmur. He isn’t looking at the package; Trevor isn’t sure he even knows what he's now holding. Instead, his eyes are on Trevor, narrowed above a lopsided frown. More than anything, he just looks… confused. Know-it-all that he is, it’s not an expression that he normally wears.

“Um,” says Trevor. As much as he wants to, he finds he can’t turn away. He clears his throat. “Shall we move along, then?”

“If you’ll recall, I’m following you.” Alucard raises one eyebrow, and the familiar lilt towards sarcasm takes some of the straight edge out of Trevor’s spine. With a sweep of his hand, he says, “Lead the way.”

“Right,” Trevor says, and marches forward without looking back.

The man at the farm stall that has mostly beets and the girl at the second farm stall that has mostly potatoes have nothing noteworthy to say either. Despite walking away with nothing but an unnecessary amount of information about Mary Reiter’s new baby and more beets and potatoes than they strictly need, Trevor is satisfied. Just as he’d suspected, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to stick around here for another day. 

He’s only half-listening to the soft-spoken shepherd boy who keeps looking at his own trembling hands instead of at them. Mostly, he’s just thinking about the nap he’s going to take in the back of the wagon later in the afternoon. Which is why he almost misses it. 

“I-I’d leave before dark then, sir. If it were me, anyway…” 

A perhaps innocuous comment on its own, but combined with the way the boy glances over his shoulder when he says it? Trevor perks up.

“Hmm? Why’s that?” he asks easily.

The boy looks up with widening eyes, and then immediately averts his gaze once more when it meets Trevor’s. 

“O-Oh, it’s um–” His voice breaks, and he stops to clear his throat. Trevor waits with a bouncing foot, biting the inside of his cheek. “Well… My family’s farm is on the north side of town, y’see. And– And, at night–”

He pauses once again and glances from side to side frantically. Alright, now he’s certainly got Trevor’s full attention. Which is why, when the boy beckons him close, he plays along, leaning in with interest. 

“Week or so ago, I was out herding the stragglers back into the pen for the night and I saw– _something_ out there. Just beyond the edge of the field.” 

Trevor raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe it was a deer or something? A–” He stops himself from mentioning _wolves_ again “–bear…?”

While there are more than their fair share of bears in the forests of Wallachia, they don’t tend to wander so close to civilization. And they’re hard to mistake for much else. But the boy doesn’t catch on to the hesitation with which Trevor makes the suggestion, or the fact that its likelihood is questionable. He’s not paying attention. He’s too busy looking almost as if his skinny limbs are going to quake right out of his roughshod boots.

“No, no, sir. It was– Well, to tell the truth, I don’t know _what_ it was. Couldn’t see it very good. Except for–” He hesitates, chewing at his already cracked lip, and glances first to Trevor and then Alucard and back again. His voice goes nearly inaudibly low when he says, “Except for the red eyes.”

Trevor stands straight once again and squeezes his eyes closed tight against the pressure building just behind his forehead. He inhales a deep breath and holds it for a handful of seconds before letting it out slowly.

When he opens his eyes again, the boy is watching him closely with a squished expression and a tight frown, standing taller than he has since they first saw him.

“Ok,” Trevor says tightly. The boy blinks. “Did you tell anyone else about what you saw? Is there any kind of town militia or, or anything really, that you’ve talked to?”

“I did, sir,” the boy says with a fresh determination that is only somewhat diminished by the brightly relieved smile he’s wearing. “Talked to a guard and he told me not to tell anybody ‘bout it.”

“Is that so.” Trevor casts a sidelong glance to Alucard and finds a look that reflects his own feelings right back at him. He keeps his voice as steadily neutral as possible when he asks, “Where, exactly, did you think you saw this– _whatever_ it might have been?”

“There’s a creek runs just out ‘round the north edge of town. I was out near the west bend of it when I saw it – round near where the treeline thins out a bit before it hits the field.” The earlier fear is gone, replaced by bright eyes and an intensely curious look. “You believe me, don’t you?” It’s not entirely a question.

Trevor inhales, one hand absently dancing against the handle of the Morning Star at his hip.

“I believe you’d best keep to town during the day and inside at night.” Not that it would help. Trevor thinks, unwillingly, of babes wrenched from their cribs, of the screams of wives waking to the sight of their husbands’ corpses next to them, still-warm blood pooling on the sheets. “Thanks for your help.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns, marching away with a new weight constricting his throat. Brilliant.

 _It could be nothing_ , he thinks, but the words ring hollow even in his own mind. He knows better. _Always prepare for the worst._

As soon as they’re far enough away from the main hub of the marketplace, turning down a side street that should lead straight past the rest of a small neighborhood and back to the edge of town, Trevor speaks without turning around.

“I’m going to have a look. You should find Sypha; let her know what’s going on.”

“No.”

Trevor stops dead in his tracks. 

_“No?”_

He turns around. Alucard has glided to perfect stop a scant distance from him, pose easy except for the hand that hovers just to one side of the rapier at his belt. It gives Trevor a moment of pause. Just hearing the familiar clop of heeled boots behind him hadn’t revealed how closely Alucard had actually been following him.

“If there’s a chance of danger, I refuse to let you run recklessly into it on your own. Sypha will be safe while she remains in town.”

Trevor bristles. He opens his mouth to argue but shuts it again a moment later when he realizes anything he could possibly say would only serve to further prove Alucard’s point. After all, running recklessly into potential danger on his own is exactly what he’d been planning to do. 

“I can take care of myself,” he grumbles. Alucard raises an eyebrow. “But. You have a point. Come on, then. Let’s go demon hunting.”


End file.
